In Starlit Nights
by runicmagitek
Summary: They meet again under unlikely circumstances and he has one request. Post-canon Ashe/Basch


_For wingsyouburn for a tumblr writing meme prompt:_ _slow dancing_

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Thousands of lights bounced off of crystals dangling from chandeliers and decorations alike, illuminating the golden interior of the palace. The vast halls carried the echoes of laughter and music originating from the ballroom. There, countless folk celebrated in the wake of the Queen's coronation. The near future promised peace along with the threat once plaguing Ivalice banished. Now was the time to rejoice and relinquish worries, thus everyone did so.

Everyone but Ashe.

She stood out on a lone balcony, arms folded upon a parapet as she cast a listless stare out into the night. All of Dalmasca bathed in the soft glow of candlelights, which challenged the brilliance in the stars and moon above. An intermittent breeze teased goosebumps out of her skin, combed through her hair, and tugged at the gossamer layers of her iridescent gown.

After everything she had been through, she had every right to be happy. Ashe achieved her goal in restoring Dalmasca and in turn, the rest of Ivalice. Yet she couldn't bring a smile to her face without the dreadful weight that came with donning a mask. To be Queen was a heavy burden, but who else would balance with regal composure while such weight resided on their shoulders? Someone had to fill the role and Ashe was the rightful heir.

But it also meant letting go of far more things than she wished to let on.

She missed her companions. The young ones were fairing well, last she checked, but of the group, only Larsa was of noble blood. Even then, their interactions were limited to letters. Balthier was a lost cause to fret over; Ashe imagined he flew west with Fran and never looked back. He deserved that freedom, though. She only wished she had even half of it.

For the one who visited her thoughts the most often was the one furthest away from her.

Yet he was there that night, alongside Larsa. Representing Archadia, after all. But no one called him by his true name. Ashe knew of it, yet bit back her tongue from speaking it. She smiled and nodded, no different from everyone else. It was then she realized it was worse to be in the same room with one she longed to embrace and be separated by duty and etiquette than be separated by distance and silence.

Another breeze flowed over her, accompanied by a stronger chill. Ashe wrapped her arms around herself, wishing it was _his_ arms. She closed her eyes and ignored the joyous wall of sound humming back inside.

It was enough to deafen her to a familiar face slipping out to join her.

"Wasn't expecting to find you alone."

That _voice_. It shot through her.

Whipping her head around, she found a tall figure clad in decorative armor over regal robes originating from Archadia. His hair was far shorter now, but Ashe could never forget that face marked with a distinct scar. Her eyes flicked over him while she hitched her breath. Even though they had already bumped into each other multiple times that day, this marked the first where they could do so in partial privacy, without formalities and traditions to uphold.

"My apologies, Your Majesty," Basch continued when the silence persisted, dipping into a grave bow. "I didn't intend to encroach on your solitude."

Her lips quirked up into a brief smile. _You haven_ _'t changed one bit._

Ashe approached him and rested a palm on his shoulder. In response, Basch raised his gaze to lock onto her eyes. She could have stared into them all night if given the chance.

"And I wasn't expecting your company," Ashe teased back in a whisper. "What do I owe the honor?"

Straightening himself, Basch took her hand into his own. She had witnessed him battle on many occasions with a furious intensity which resided in any well-seasoned soldier, yet he cradled her hand as if he had never gripped a sword before.

"Would it be too much to ask for a dance, Your Majesty?"

Heat surfaced to her cheeks and Ashe didn't dare to try and hide it. "Please," she said, "it's simply Ashe."

Basch nodded. "I only wish to bestow utmost respect to you."

"It's but a title."

"And one could argue that you're also but a woman." He squeezed her hand and his eyes softened with a fondness she hadn't seen in ages. "But you're far more than that to me."

Ashe wiggled her fingers in his palm, pleased when he extended his to lace them into hers. She tried to memorize the softness in his actions, the heat in his body, and the gaze in his eyes which spoke of more than just a dance.

"So is it?"

Fluttering her eyes, Ashe tilted her head. "Hmm?"

"Is it too much to ask for a dance with you?"

His initial question had been lost and even with it repeated, Ashe choked on her answer. But Basch had always been patient. Even back when she was furious with him and wished him dead.

Licking her lips, she matched his gaze with a coy expression. "It never is."

Basch planted a tender kiss along her knuckles before moving into a proper dancing formation. Ashe mirrored him, closing her eyes as his hand skimmed over her lower back to draw her in close. A mental voice of reason advised her to _not_ be doing this. He was Judge Magister to Archadia and she was Dalmasca's Queen. Such an affair would create enough gossip to last decades. And yet Ashe couldn't break herself away from Basch, flowing with him about the balcony in time with the distant hum of music.

"They could see us," Ashe whispered at one point. Her eyes even darted to the ajar double doors leading back into the palace. The masses were indeed distracted, but there was always the possibility, always the chance to ruin the bliss she shared with him.

Though he didn't speak at first. A hand met with the back of her head and nudged her to rest a cheek upon his shoulder. Ashe didn't hesitate, nuzzling into him from a loose embrace as their fluid dance turned into a slow shuffle. She purred when he stroked her hair and squeezed her when the wind picked up.

"I don't care," he murmured back.

It was only then a question of which would die of exhaustion first: the celebration inside or their dance under the stars.


End file.
